


Etch

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Barista Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Homeless Castiel, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Witch Castiel, Witch Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: When Castiel is told to leave home and never come back, he has nowhere to go - until he finds himself being taken in by a couple of kind strangers. Skip ahead a few years, and working for them in their coffee shop is what he's best at; he can mix up a Heart-Happiness Hot Chocolate or a Lifesaver Latte in the blink of an eye, magic-infused drinks that bring warmth and comfort to their loyal customers. He's got his books, he's got his magic, he's got friends... and he's also most certainly got the attention of one Dean Winchester, who comes in every day - and it's not for the coffee.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K_K_TiBal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal/gifts).



> Witch!Cas is very much [Mich](http://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com)'s area of expertise, but Mich, since it's your birthday, I thought I'd try my hand at it for you. I hope I'm a welcome visitor to your fair kingdom. HAPPY BIRTHDAY bittersweetheart, you absolute champion - more to come soon!! (This is totally going to be my Owl Prince and I have to accept that, don't I)

 

What does it take to break a home?

Just a few words, perhaps. Just  _ we think it’s best you go  _ or  _ we wish things were different  _ or  _ we hope you’ll come back to us one day.  _ Little sad sentences, full of finality, as though this were inevitable and not their choice. 

Maybe it only takes a particular look in the eyes, an expression of resolve and of distance. An expression that turns  _ all of us  _ into  _ us and you.  _

Possibly, all it takes is walking out the door and knowing that you can never go back.

And what does it take to break a person?

That one is easier to answer, because it’s any one of a hundred things. The way that the cold sinks into your bones when you’re sleeping rough. How people dodge your eyes when you ask for help, leave you standing alone in the clothes you walked away from home in, gripping your hands into fists in your pockets and trying not to cry. The way the world feels so big, and so full of people who don’t want to know you exist. 

The way that you miss home, perhaps, most of all, even though you don’t have one anymore.

Castiel sat on the step outside a movie theatre, sheltering from the rain as best he could.

He was already soaked through, so the effort of waiting under the jutting marquee seemed futile - but he already had an ache in his throat and he’d been coughing for a few days, so he’d decided he might as well do his best to get dry sooner rather than later. His hoodie was drenched, but it was too cold to even think about taking it off. The sky above was dark and overcast with unrelenting cloud.

He shivered, and clenched his jaw to try to stop his teeth from chattering.

A few people were hurrying past on the sidewalk, umbrellas in hand, their faces always lightening for a minute as they passed under the shelter where Castiel had taken refuge. A couple of them caught his eye, but none stopped to put money in the cap he’d set out in front of him.

He sat still as stone, trying to become the statue that they wanted him to be - wanting to calcify into a something, rather than a someone.

A month ago, when he’d first left home, at least two or three older people would have stopped to ask what such a young man was doing out late and in the rain. That had been when his clothes had still been clean and without ratty sleeves, and he’d smelled better, and his hair had been short and neat. And he’d still expected them to help, too, Castiel supposed - he’d still looked terrified, and desperate, and like he knew he shouldn’t be where he was.

Now, he just looked desperate. But that alone wasn’t enough to get anyone to help.

Castiel didn’t really cry, anymore. It was pointless and it made him look younger, when he worked constantly to seem older than he was for the sake of his own safety. Besides, it only seemed to put people off giving him money even more - because he looked too much like a person, probably, and not enough like an easy opportunity for them to feed in a coin and feel like they’d fixed something. 

But tonight, it was raining and he had nowhere to go and he was fifteen and a half years old, and he could feel his mouth turning down at the corners, his eyes filling up. 

He cried silently, heartbreakingly, in the way of people who don’t expect to be helped. He dropped his head, shivering hard, and let the tears come.

People left him to it. The rain hammered down, and Castiel’s heart was tearing, and no one did anything to help.

Except -

“Excuse me,” said a voice, almost too soft to be heard over the rain. “Are you alright?”

Castiel didn’t want to look up. When he looked up, that nice gentle person with their nice gentle voice would take one look at the mats in his hair and the hollowness of his eyes, and they’d say  _ oh… sorry,  _ and they’d move on. He wanted to stay in this exact moment, pretending that this was going to be the end of the nightmare.

“Come on, love.” A second voice, sounding tired.

“No, wait…” The first voice was insistent. She sounded so lovely. Maybe she was a princess, thought Castiel. She sounded like a princess. He’d imagined a princess coming and getting him more often than he’d like to admit, spiriting him away to her magical castle and letting him eat whenever he wanted and giving him two guards outside his door, always, so that he didn’t have to spend so much of his time awake and on the move.

A pair of footsteps came closer, and Castiel found himself looking up quickly and instinctively to make sure that he wasn’t about to be robbed or picked up.

“Oh my god, it’s just a kid,” said the second voice, coming closer. “It’s a just kid.”

“He’s so small…” 

“Hey, are you OK?”

Castiel pressed his lips together, and didn’t know how to say anything.

“Hey,” said the first voice - the softer one, the one with a friendly kind of accent and a smile in it. Castiel clenched his hands, hard, and tried not to move or breathe or do anything that would make the owners of the voices go away. “Hey. Are you lost?”

Castiel pushed down all his answers, the  _ yes I’m so lost  _ and the  _ please please please help  _ and the  _ I just want to go home please I just want to go home, I’m so lost.  _ He swallowed, hard.

“Look at his etch. It’s so pale. Hey, kid, come on - are you lost?”

“I don’t think he’s lost, love.” The second voice was heavy. “I think he’s been out here a while.”

Castiel pushed his hand up into his sleeve, hiding his etch. It was true that it was thin and pale and shameful, not enough power in the scored marks on his fingers to be able to cast for warmth or dryness anymore. He could feel tears threatening again. Soon it would be gone completely.

Someone squatted down in front of him - at a respectful distance, but bringing herself right into Castiel’s line of sight.

She was the sun, was Castiel’s first thought. She was like sunshine pouring through the rain, her smile so big and bright and kind, her hair blonde like rich butter in the streetlight.

“Well, hey there,” she said. “I’m Donna. What’s your name?”

Castiel swallowed again, and didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t had someone take this much interest in him in weeks. The feeling of being looked at - actually looked at, and seen - it was dizzying. He could only stare back at her, and try not to let his teeth chatter.

The second voice said,

“He needs to get out of this rain. Look at him, he’s soaked.” Castiel looked up, and saw another woman standing over him - brown-haired, with sharp eyes and a thin mouth. Less kind than the blonde lady, Castiel thought. He didn’t feel the same instant trust.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” the first lady - Donna - asked him.

“If he did,” the second lady said, “I think he’d be there. He looks freezing.”

“You poor thing. How did you end up here, hmm? Do you want to come with us for a bit?” She said it sweetly, lightly, almost motheringly - as though it were all no more serious than if Castiel were a misbehaving cat who’d got stuck in a washing machine, and she’d arrived to open the door.

And she did open the door - the door to her coffee shop, just a couple of blocks away from the movie theatre. 

When she’d asked him if he wanted to come with them, Castiel hadn’t known how to say yes or no - he’d just found his body standing up for him, ready to follow. And so now Castiel was walking indoors, his head light, his feet not his own, everything feeling surreal and impossible. He still hadn’t spoken a word. Neither Donna nor the other lady had touched him, not even once. His hoodie was dripping water from the sleeves, and his worn-out sneakers were squelching nastily.

There was a part of him that knew this was stupid. That knew he was putting himself in danger by following two adults into a darkened coffee shop. That knew, even if they weren’t planning something nasty for him, they were still going to turn him away eventually.

That part of him was being drowned out, however, by the way his hoodie was sticking to his back with the rain, and by the ache of hunger in his stomach, and by the way Donna’s voice made his hands twitch forward as though hoping he could grab onto her honey-butter words, and use them like a golden rope to pull himself out of the dark.

The other lady was watching him, her eyes still sharp, but she told him to make himself at home as soon as he was inside.

“Lights, love?” she added, as she closed her umbrella and gave it a shake, stamping her feet on the doormat.

Donna hummed as she headed behind the bar, making for a big metal beast of a coffee machine; Castiel saw her etch glow briefly at the base of her throat, and the lights overhead warmed into gold. The room was illuminated - spread throughout with tables and chairs, and with what seemed like every available bit of wall space and free surface covered in some kind of curiosity or treasure.

“Now,” Donna said, giving Castiel a wink. “Let me see. I think we need one Stay-Full Sandwich, and a Heart-Happiness Hot Chocolate. Sound good?”

She didn’t wait for Castiel to reply, but simply set about her task, grabbing a cup and pulling out bread from a cupboard and opening up a fridge, moving around with practised quickness. The sounds of her preparations echoed around the empty coffee shop, strange and misplaced at this hour of the night. Castiel was suddenly not sure if they’d managed to pull him a little way into their nice normal world, or if he’d accidentally dragged them into the oddness of his own.

“Jody,” Donna said, as Castiel stood absolutely still and just stared at her, not sure what else to do that wasn’t wrong. “You didn’t stack the dishwasher.”

It was such a normal thing to say, spoken in that loving yet slightly belligerent tone, that Castiel almost smiled.

“Just cast wash on them,” the other lady - Jody - said wearily as she kicked off her boots and left them beside the door.

“I can never do it right,” Donna said. “They always come out tasting funny. Sugar dumpling, can you… ?”

“Be right there,” Jody said, and headed back behind the bar, too.

Castiel watched after them, dripping, feeling like a rat at a banquet. He was always so much more aware of how he smelled when he was inside - and this wasn’t the usual kind of place he got to visit, either. This was no soup kitchen or beaten-up motel he’d managed to scrape together the money for, for a night; no, this place was glowing warm and charming and clean. The floor was scrubbed wood, the walls painted a lovely light green. The lights hanging down from the high ceiling were copper-coloured, and each had little individualised designs on them - steaming cups, flowers, teapots. The tables were all laid out in a kind of organised disarray, looking haphazard but actually with a careful amount of comfortable space between each to allow people to move around easily.

During the day, Castiel thought, this place must be lovely to go to. He could imagine coming here with -

He could imagine some people came here with their families. 

There were a couple of tables at the back which were low, and were set down in front of worn, thick-cushioned sofas with high arms and mismatched throws. It would be such a good place to sit and enjoy a family’s company.

Donna and Jody were still bustling around behind the bar; Castiel could hear them chatting to each other. Their voices were low and relaxed, soothing, pulling him out of his head. He walked around the coffee shop, noticing new things wherever he looked - a model train on a track attached to the wall, little funnel polished to a shine, that had to run around the length of the cafe when it was turned on; a trio of succulent plants, their fat little leaves cheerfully emerald green; a canvas with a glowing etch painted on it, a pink one, in the shape of a simple spiral.

Castiel looked down at his own etch, on the inside of his fingers. It was circular, too - but inside, it was complex. A labyrinth, lines flowing through it and intersecting, the centre of it seeming impossible to reach from the outside. It was only when Castiel stretched out his fingers, separated the design, that anyone could possibly find a way in.

_ Of course your etch is complicated,  _ his mother had once said.  _ Just like you always are. _

And,

_ Of course your etch is all over the place like that. Just like you are. _

Castiel pushed the thought away. He kept walking around the coffee shop, taking everything in, moving slowly and cautiously in case he broke something. He reached out, and ran his fingertips over the rim of a little decorative teacup sitting at the centre of one of the tables. It was so tiny and delicate, the china so thin. On the outside, little dancing girls and boys were painted in purples and silvers. He squinted at them, and could almost hear them laughing, hear the song that was playing...

His fingernails were filthy, and he pulled his hand back before Donna or Jody could see what he was doing.

He liked this coffee shop. He liked the little tiny touches that made it feel special, as though someone had put love into it - and not just gone and bought everything flatpack and called it good enough, which was the only way he’d really seen it done before.

_ It’s easier to keep everything clean without clutter,  _ his mother would say.  _ It must be a nightmare to do the dusting. Besides, minimalism is always in fashion for the more au fait. _

Castiel had been told to leave his home before he could figure out what  _ au fait  _ meant. He imagined from context that it had something to do with being rich. He’d learned that a lot of people who weren’t rich lived in the way his mother would call minimalist, but they called it  _ not being able to afford things. _

He needed to stop thinking about his mother. Being inside, in normal-looking places where she would go, it made her rise up by his shoulder like a ghost.

“Order up!” said a voice from the bar, breaking him out of his thoughts. Donna was setting a plate and a mug down on the counter, and wiggling her eyebrows at him.

“C’mon, come get it. Jody, you want a coffee?”

“I’ll never sleep. Better not,” she said, her voice muffled from a room behind the bar.

“You coming out to sit with us?”

“Be there in a second, love.”

Castiel headed over cautiously. Donna smiled at him as he approached, a gentle and encouraging kind of smile, and he blinked in reply. He could smell something - something that made his stomach growl, suddenly letting him feel how utterly ravenous he was now that food looked like it was definitely happening. On top of the wooden counter, presented simply on a plate, was -

Was a  _ sandwich.  _ But somehow, the title of sandwich didn’t seem to do it justice. It was a long bread roll, golden brown, and Castiel could see the crust on the outside and the softness of the bread on the inside; he could see melted cheese in it, and fried vegetables, and the scent of it was like heaven. It was paradise, in his nose. Castiel found his hands reaching for the food before he was even close enough to pick it up, feeling his legs go weak at the idea that this could be his food - that he could  _ eat  _ it.

Jody emerged from the back room, and raised her eyebrows at Castiel and then tilted her head towards the sandwich. Donna smiled and pushed it towards him, her arm brushing against the cash register at the end of the bar.

Castiel came to a sudden halt.

Cash register. Money. 

He had barely two dollars, and there was no way that’d be enough to buy himself a sandwich in a place like this. There was the drink beside it, too, steaming happily in its mug, which itself would probably be over two dollars.

Castiel felt his cheeks start to redden. He didn’t know where to look. He found his eyes being drawn back to the cash register, sitting there smugly, waiting for payment he didn’t have.

“Hey,” Jody said, from across the bar. “Didn’t you tell the kid?”

Castiel’s head jerked up. Donna was frowning, looking over at Jody.

“Tell him what?”

“What day it is?” Jody raised her eyebrows. “How it’s  _ give a kid a sandwich  _ day?”

“Give a kid a - oh,” said Donna, catching on when Jody widened her eyes significantly. “ _ Oh _ , yeah, I forgot to say!”

“Can’t leave anything up to you,” Jody said. She glanced at Castiel. “We’re legally required by the government to give a kid a sandwich today. For free. If you don’t eat that, we’ll get arrested.”

“Super arrested,” Donna said seriously.

“And I would know, because I’m a cop. So get that damn sandwich in you, before we all go to jail.”

Castiel looked from one to the other.

“Is that a siren I hear in the distance,” Jody said. 

“They’re coming for us, Jody,” Donna said.

“They must be almost here…”

Castiel half-leaped the last few steps up to the bar, and picked up the sandwich, and took a huge, glorious bite.

The crispness of the bread’s crust. The creaminess of the cheese. The sweetness of the fried onions, the sharpness of the fried peppers. Castiel let out a little noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, as he swallowed the bite almost whole. He could feel it all the way down to his stomach, where it came to rest - warm, and delicious.

“Hey, come on,” Jody said. “Chew your food.”

She looked happy, though.

They sat him down at a table - a light-wood one with a top that was painted white, which Castiel himself got to choose. Donna carried his drink over, and Jody sat down opposite him.

“Can I cast dry for you?” she said, as he took yet another bite of the sandwich. Mouth full, he could only nod.

Donna had hummed to focus her mind when she’d cast light, but Jody instead rubbed the tips of her left index finger and thumb together. Castiel saw her etch light up out of the corner of his eye, three parallel lines on the side of her head, partially hidden by her short hair.

And just like that, his clothes were dry. And warm, as though they’d just come out of the tumble dryer. And they smelled fresh, like peppermint.

Castiel would have been impressed, if he hadn’t been too busy eating his sandwich. The way the cheese stringed out of the bread, shining and yellow and filling and fatty and perfect, he couldn’t get over it. His stomach was aching with how happy it was to be filled.

“You’re so good at the householdy ones,” Donna said.

“We don’t tell anyone that,” Jody said. “I have a reputation to keep up.”

“My clothes always smell like old socks when I try to wash and dry them,” Donna confided in Castiel, leaning her elbows on the table and putting her chin on her hands. “And when I concentrate on not making them smell like old socks, they start to smell like old shoes.”

Castiel wanted to nod sympathetically, but he was at the business end of the sandwich, and he couldn’t spare the time. In just two more huge, wonderful bites, he dispatched the rest, and was done.

He licked his fingers, trying to recapture a little of the taste just one last time. He’d probably never eat another sandwich like that in his life, he knew.

“Well,” Jody said, “that went down the hatch.”

Castiel glanced up at her quickly, worried he’d done something wrong or been rude - but the corner of her mouth was crooked up in a smile for him, and he felt himself relax just a little. The expression made her look kinder.

Donna pushed Castiel’s drink towards him.

“Drink up,” she said. “Oh - wait, no, I forgot to cast. Durrrr. One sec.” She pulled the drink back, away from Castiel’s outstretched hands. She hummed, concentrating - her etch lit up, a bright pink - and before Castiel’s eyes, the hot drink’s surface shimmered, and the steam started to rise into sweet little vapour hearts.

He eyed it worriedly. He had no idea what she’d done to the drink, but was too embarrassed to ask.

“It’s alright,” Jody said. “Our casts aren’t dangerous and they won’t force you to feel anything. Here.” She picked up the cup, took a little sip, and smiled again. “Ahh. Mmmm. Try it, if you want. You’ll see what I mean.”

Donna smiled encouragingly, and Castiel hesitantly picked up the cup. 

The drink tasted sweet, and rich, and chocolatey - and when he swallowed, he could feel something shift in his chest. Like a little question, he could feel something waiting; he breathed out, and relaxed, and let it do its work. 

The cast washed over his heart, warming it through and through. He could feel his face smooth out, expression going soft as a child’s, as his worries eased ever so slightly. The drink was like a mother’s hand smoothing hair off his brow, like a cat purring against him, like late afternoon sun for his soul.

“Heart-Happiness Hot Chocolate,” Donna said. “Never did me wrong.”

She smiled at him. Castiel took another sip, because he didn’t know what else to do. Everything was too good, too much, too impossible.

“Young man,” Jody said, leaning forward.

“Castiel,” Castiel said. Both women went still. He looked between them, swinging his legs nervously under his chair. “I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel, then,” Jody said. “Do you mind us asking - where you come from?”

Swallowing hard, Castiel looked down at his drink.

“You don’t have to answer,” Donna said. “We’re just a little worried about you.”

“Not here,” Castiel said.

“OK. Well, can you go back?”

“No.”

Jody raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t. My mother…” Castiel’s throat went dry, and he took another sip of Heart-Happiness Hot Chocolate, letting its delicate cast wrap around the ice in his chest. It was like putting his aching heart in a bath to ease the cramped muscles of its sadness.

“You have a mom?” Donna said, sounding bewildered. “And you’re out here?”

“She - doesn’t like me.”

“Why not?” asked Donna, her confusion even more prominent. “What’s that even matter? Even if she doesn’t like you all that much, doesn’t she want you to be safe? What’s more important than that?”

Castiel felt his lips lock shut. He glanced between Jody and Donna, wondering what to say.

_ Love,  _ Jody had called Donna. And they moved around each other with easy intimacy. It would be safe to tell them, wouldn’t it?

“Oh,” said Jody, as Castiel’s gaze flicked between them.

“Oh?” Donna echoed, her tone making it a question.

“Did she find out something about you?” Jody said, those sharp eyes watching Castiel, figuring him out - but not judging him, just analysing. “Something that made her really mad?”

Castiel looked down at the table.

“I - I knew she wouldn’t like it,” he said. His voice sounded so strange to his own ears. He didn’t get asked questions like this, not anymore. He never spoke at any length. “But I - I thought she didn’t know about my diary and I wrote things down in there about - about a - a boy.”

“Oh,” said Donna, in the exact same way as Jody had.

There was a moment of silence.

“I bet he was a cute boy,” Donna said. Castiel looked up at her bleakly.

“He had nice eyes,” he said.

Jody nodded.

“Well,” she said, “you won’t have any problems about that from us.”

Castiel’s throat was tight. He nodded, and then Donna’s hand was reaching across the table and gently covering his own.

Her hand was so soft, and so warm, and so caring. Castiel wished she would keep it there forever. He wished he deserved to be touched so nicely. He wished he didn’t have to leave.

“Th-thank you,” he managed. “For…”

His voice died. Jody lifted a shoulder.

“It’s  _ give a kid a sandwich  _ day,” she said. Castiel met her eyes, and smiled.

“Hey,” Donna said, squeezing Castiel’s hand. “Now, there’s a sight I’ve been waiting to see.” Her eyes were a little shiny, but she looked happy. “You poor thing. You must have had a terrible time.”

Castiel thought about it - thought of all the near escapes, all the sleepless nights, all the cuts and scrapes, all the bad people and all the normal people who ignored him and all the good people who were always so sad, all the hunger and the cold and the fear and the loneliness.

He ducked his head, half a nod.

“You’re here now,” Donna said. “So it’s gonna be OK.”

She said it with such certainty that Castiel almost believed her.

Jody reached over the table, and picked up Castiel’s plate.

“Now,” she said. “We live upstairs, and we have a couple of guest rooms. We’ll make one up for you, if you want. No way you should be thinking about going back out into that rain.”

“Really?” The question came out sounding so hopeful that Castiel winced and looked at the floor. Donna, though, said,

“Oh, bless your heart, you’re not going back outside tonight unless you really, really want to. Do you want to? Or do you want to stay?”

“Um. Maybe just for one… one night,” Castiel said, standing up as Jody did, breaking the hand contact with Donna and immediately feeling its loss. He couldn’t imagine staying with the two of them for any longer than a night, when they were so kind and so generous - or rather, he could imagine it all too easily, and he knew it would never be allowed. He’d have to move on, or else he’d just be taking advantage. It couldn’t be  _ give a kid a sandwich  _ day every day.

Donna smiled hugely at him, and beckoned for him to follow her through a door at the very back of the room.

“We’ll see,” she said, her voice gentle and full of promise. “We’ll see.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Ten Years Later _

 

Castiel stepped out into the freezing cold air, and locked his front door behind him.

The door was a battered shade of blue, with scratch and scuff marks across it and one cracked window pane out of four at the top - but it was a door, a door that kept Castiel’s apartment behind it. Castiel locked it with his usual kick of pride, and sealed it magically shut with a quick press of his etch-marked fingers for good measure.

He walked down the rusty iron steps that led up to his door - his  _ door _ \- and began his commute to work.

The winter wind buffeted him in a rough-and-tumble, boisterous, genial kind of way; Castiel, prepared for it, was wearing a thick blue wraparound scarf and fingerless gloves to match, along with a dark faux-leather jacket and a pair of sturdy boots. There was no snow, yet - but the forecasts promised it, as certainly as the iron-grey clouds overhead.

Castiel blew gently on his etch, and it crackled into glowing life. He wasn’t much good at body magic, but he could focus his mind enough with the sensation of air over the mark to be able to heat himself up a little bit as he walked.

He knew his hair would stick up in all directions, though, as it always did after he’d used some body magic. He could never stop it doing that.

The walk to work was a short one, and a familiar one. He took in the sight of the park to his left, spindly leafless tree branches scraping the sky like fairy-tale witches’ fingers; to his right, Mr Lafitte taking in the early-morning delivery for the butcher’s shop that he ran; a few hundred yards further on, the familiar clanks and metallic groans from Mr Singer’s autoshop, with its wide open gates and dirty cement-floored warehouse. Castiel lifted a hand in greeting towards Mr Singer, who doffed the tip of his ragged baseball cap before getting back to work. Mr Singer had once asked Castiel about the piercing in his ear, wondering if it was for spellwork; in fact, the silver ring did nothing to help Castiel’s focus or spell strength, but ever since then the two of them had exchanged friendly waves whenever they happened to see each other.

It was all so reassuringly familiar, every sound and sight falling into place like notes on the sheet music for a song that Castiel knew by heart. And it was truly by his heart that he knew this place - every scent of gasoline or smoke, every leggy-leafed weed growing on the sidewalk, every piece of vulgar graffiti daubed onto the lampposts was quietly treasured. Not because he romanticised it, so much as just because it was so known to him. Because it was always the same. Because it wasn’t going anywhere - and he hadn’t gone anywhere, either. 

He was right where he should be. And he’d made the boring and the ugly and the workaday roughness of this place into his own little beloved world.

Making a right, he walked some little way down a different street, and then pushed open the green-framed glass door to a familiar coffee shop.

The  _ Witch’s Brew  _ hadn’t changed much since Castiel had first walked through its doors, and Castiel wasn’t sure whether that was because of his own predilection for perfectly preserving his surroundings, or whether it was simply because there was no reason to change anything -  _ if it ain’t broke,  _ Jody would often say, when Donna suggested overhauling the decor,  _ don’t get a new couch. _

She often caught his eye right before she said it, though, and probably saw the little hiccough of worry that appeared on Castiel’s face, every time. Objectively, Castiel knew that a fresh coat of paint or a new aesthetic for the place wouldn’t be the end of everything that he’d come to love, come to rely on; but even still, there was a part of him - a deeper part, a more intrinsic part - that knew how places changed and shaped people. If a place changed, its people changed. 

And he didn’t want anything much to change. Not now.

It wasn’t as though the place was in dire need, after all. Over the last decade, it had relaxed into itself; its previously slightly self-conscious furnishings now had all the character that they’d rather obviously longed for back when Donna and Jody had first gathered them together. The succulent plants were now huge, overgrown, dripping their fat green leaves like jungle emeralds; the teacups were now full of pennies, and had little labels that designated them the Wishing Cups; the model train now had a name and carriages attached, which carried a selection of free cake and cookie samples around the edge of the coffee shop. The  _ Orient Espresso  _ was usually to be found puffing around, powered by a simple etch spell from Castiel himself. What his magic lacked in body sense, it made up for in mechanics - in the delicate control of moving parts and metal.

The new coffee machine was one of his designs, too; it could make Long-No-More Lattes and Heart-Happiness Hot Chocolates and Mend-Your-Mind Mochas in just a few bursts of steam and a glow of magic. Castiel could still remember the way Donna’s eyes had gone wide when Castiel had told her he’d found a way to take her enchantments over the drinks and store them, keep them ready for when they were needed, so it didn’t always have to be her behind the counter of the coffee shop. She’d squeezed him in a big hug and smacked him on the arm and said he was clever, and it had been the proudest moment in his full eighteen years of life.

Now, Castiel pushed through the swinging gate that led behind the counter, and headed to the back room. As usual, the specials for the day were already laid out on trays, their delicious scents filling up the room; Donna was always awake a few hours earlier than everyone else, rolling out dough and piping on icing and chopping up fresh fruit.

“We could just buy in the cakes,” Jody always said, when Donna reached the end of a long week looking exhausted. And Donna would always smile her ten-thousand-megawatt smile, undimmed by tiredness, and say,

“But the magic goes in from the very beginning.”

It was true that no one made cakes and sandwiches and tarts and rolls like Donna did. Some people made food, Castiel had found, and other people created it, drew out taste and smell and looks on a plate like artists. Donna’s Stay-Safe Cinnamon Rolls glistened with sparkling sugar, and held enough strength from her etch spell to keep anyone who ate one in good health for at least a day afterwards; her Silver-Tongue Strawberry Tarts were ruby-red and perfectly fresh crowns of strawberry and syrup encased in crisp, thin, golden-brown pastry, and they lent a special fluency and confidence of speech to their eater. And Castiel would never forget the first time he’d tried a slice of her Viva-Victorious Victoria Sponge, or her Change-Up Cherry Pie, or her Hurry-Back Honeycakes…

“You know,” Castiel had said to her one time, “the magic you use on these things… the way you can get people to feel what you want them to feel if they allow it, it’s…”

_ Almost scary,  _ were the words that came to his lips. But he couldn’t look at Donna, sweet and cuddly and bright-eyed Donna, and tell her that she scared him. Jody, who had been listening in, had poked her head around the back room door and said,

“She could have become a deadly CIA operative, or a coffee shop owner. And I’m damn glad she picked what she picked.”

And Donna had pushed a tester for her new Do-or-Doughnuts into her wife’s mouth, and Jody had spent the next three hours energetically cleaning the whole shop. They’d toned down the recipe a little before it had hit the shelves of their chilled food display - even though Jody herself had pointed out that the job had needed doing, and she'd only been willingly riding the wave of productivity.

This morning, there was no sign of Donna in the back room; recently, she’d taken to going back to bed for half an hour or so after finishing up getting the pastries and cakes ready, just to stave off her tiredness during the day. Castiel was starting to worry about her. She wasn’t as young as she’d been when she’d first opened the place, and although Castiel and his inventions had certainly helped to lighten her load, she still worked incredibly long hours. Even though she loved it, the work put purple shadows under her eyes. Jody saw it too, of course. Jody saw everything. Neither of them knew how to help, though, Castiel thought, and that was the problem.

Maybe Donna’s next enchanted dish should be a Burst-of-Inspiration Blueberry Muffin, just to help them out.

He began to move the day’s products out into the refrigerated display that was built in as part of the counter, making sure that each cake and tart and roll was undamaged and unspoiled by any fingerprints. At  _ Witch’s Brew _ they rarely failed to sell out of all their produce by the end of the day, of course - but they hadn’t become so successful by ignoring the details.

When all the desserts and sweet treats - except for one doughnut, which he left to one side - were resting safely inside the display case, Castiel blew gently on his etch and pressed his glowing fingers to a mechanism at the side. With a graceful whirr and tinkle, separate little parts of the display case raised themselves up, bearing single slices of cake or little gatherings of pastries aloft. As Castiel held his hand against the display case’s switch, the delicate metal podiums and perches began to gently swivel, ticking like tiny watches and showcasing every delicious, tempting, glorious angle of every dessert that was on sale.

Satisfied, he turned away from the display case, and started making the last preparations before opening. The counter needed to be wiped down, the chairs and tables needed a little rearranging, a couple of cushions needed plumping; Castiel fluffed up his favourite, the one that said  _ Home Is Where the Heart Is  _ \- except the lettering had come unstitched over the years, and now it said,  _ Home Is here he art Is. _

Home is here, Castiel thought, that part made sense. Home was definitely here.

He art is? That was his favourite part. It gave him an obscure kind of satisfaction that it was so close to making sense, but didn’t quite. It was tantalising. He art is… who was he? Why was he art?

“Shit,” said a voice from over by the door that led upstairs, breaking Castiel’s abstract thoughts. The door slammed. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m late.”

“Good morning,” Castiel said, just a shade dryly, as Jody made her way over towards the door, pulling on her coat as she went and brushing at her short hair to try to neaten it. “Doughnut on the counter.”

“Good boy,” said Jody distractedly, grabbing it and taking a huge bite. “Ohhh. Yes. Better. OK, I’m off.”

She threw a wave over at him, which he returned - and then barrelled out of the door.

Castiel went back to plumping pillows with a smile on his face. Jody was swear-worthy late most days, even more so now that Donna went back to bed in the mornings more often than not. She was never in too much of a rush for a doughnut, though, or a quick greeting as she headed out to face her day.

When the cushions were sorted to Castiel’s satisfaction, and the sun was just starting to climb up far enough to peek over the high-rise buildings and gild the copper-rimmed cups and coffee maker in light, and the clock on the wall dinged out a little three-note melody, it was time to open the shop. Castiel flipped the sign on the window; the few people who’d already gathered outside smiled at him in recognition, looking wan with the earliness of the morning; they headed inside, and the day began.

Castiel served customer after customer, rarely having time to stop. It was how he preferred things - a constant flow of making drinks, tidying tables, restocking the  _ Orient Espresso _ , stacking the dishwasher, and beginning it all again. His mind relaxed into it, his hands familiar with the work. He smiled at the customers he recognised, and took orders politely and warmly from the new faces.

Donna appeared mid-morning, her hair a mess, looking stricken. She navigated her way through the buzzing shop, offering waves and quick smiles to anyone she knew. When she reached Castiel, who was carefully wiping down the coffee machine, she reached out and squeezed his arm.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “One sec it was seven-thirty and then I snoozed my alarm and next thing, it’s hours later… oh, honey, have you been OK?”

Castiel, making two drinks at once, clever hands never missing a beat, assured her he was fine. 

“It’s good for you to get some rest,” he said. Donna’s tired face looked a little less shadowed over, today.

“I’m supposed to be here to help,” Donna said, still sounding cross at herself as she turned and began to unload plates and cups from the dishwasher; her etch glowed as she hummed, focusing, and the plates started to roll themselves along the counter and into their cupboard. 

“You’re just tired,” Castiel said.

“That’s no excuse! You’re here every day too, aren’t you? I don’t know, I’m just not on top of my game…”

“You’re doing great,” Castiel offered, discreetly catching one of the plates as it almost wobbled right off the counter. Donna’s aptitude for household magic had increased over the years, but not so much that he’d let her roll plates along a countertop unsupervised.

“I just…”

“You work every day until eleven and then you get up at three, and you’ve been doing that for as long as I’ve known you,” Castiel said. He raised an eyebrow as he caught another plate. “You need a break. That’s all.”

“I don’t want a break,” Donna said, finishing up with the dishwasher and heading over to the coffee machine to check there were enough of her etch spells in there to last the lunchtime rush. “I love this place! I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere more than here.”

“Mmm. Maybe being here on more than four hours’ sleep would be nice, though,” Castiel said, but Donna wasn’t listening, already walking towards the back room. Castiel wanted to follow her, but he heard the bell over the door chime; he went to help his next customer, stopping quickly on the way to push a couple of used plates over towards the dishwasher as he said, “Hello, how can I help?”

“Well, hi there,” said a voice that had Castiel’s head turning, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll take a Charmer’s Chai Latte and a slice of pie, please.”

“Of course, coming right up.”

Castiel offered this particular customer his rarest smile, small and warm and heartfelt, as he nodded and went to work on making the drink and serving up the pie. He took care with both, wanting them to be just right. And perhaps also wanting his customer, this specific customer, to linger by his counter a little longer.

Of all the people who came into the  _ Witch’s Brew _ , Castiel’s favourite by far was Dean Winchester.


End file.
